


Stepbrothers

by makkachino



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-09-09
Updated: 2015-05-04
Packaged: 2018-02-14 14:41:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 18,288
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2195664
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/makkachino/pseuds/makkachino
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jean is not at all happy with his mother's decision to remarry, and has no trouble telling her exactly how he feels about the situation. However, when he finally meets his new stepbrother, he has a rather sudden change of heart...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> At the behest of several friends, I'm finally getting around to cross-posting this from the kink meme. 
> 
> Original prompt can be found [here](http://snkkink.dreamwidth.org/8414.html?thread=7770846#cmt7770846).

“It’s not too late, y’know,” Jean told his mother over breakfast. Donuts and a large jug of orange juice, just enough for four people. “We could lock the door and pretend we’re not home when they get here.”

“Jean-“

“I just don’t understand why they have to move in with us,” he interrupted, swallowing a mouth full of powdered pastry. “Just because you two got married doesn’t mean things have to change, right?”

His mother sighed, exasperated with him already. “They’re moving in, Jean. We’re not going to argue about it anymore.” 

Jean knew it was hopeless – she wouldn’t stoop that low, even if she was having second thoughts – but he felt the need to try one last time before his new stepdad and brother arrived. It was bad enough that she’d decided to run off with a coworker and get married in Vegas, but did Jean really have to share his bedroom with the guy’s son? Despite his mother’s constant insistence that Marco was a “perfectly nice young man”, and that they would “get along just fine”, Jean absolutely abhorred the idea. There was a perfectly good shed in the back yard, why couldn’t Marco sleep in there?

Okay, maybe that was a little harsh. Logically, he knew this kid was probably just as upset about the situation as he was. Maybe even more so, since Marco was the one who had to pack up everything he owned, move to a new town, and switch schools. But that didn’t change the fact that he was the one invading Jean’s room. 

It wasn’t long before the moving truck pulled up to the house, signaling its arrival with a loud  _honk_. Jean watched as his mother’s eyes lit up, like a little kid’s on Christmas morning. He had never seen her look so happy.

Jean had to fight the urge to roll his eyes. Sheesh, she was a grown-ass woman, not some doe-eyed, love struck teenager. This was getting ridiculous. “I’m going to my room.”

“Jean-“

“I already agreed to share my room with him. That doesn’t mean I have to be friendly, or waste my whole day lugging their shit around. You wanna play house with your new family? Fine. But leave me out of it.”

Thankfully, his mom didn’t have anything else to say, but he could tell by the way she suddenly stopped making eye contact with him that his words stung. Good. Maybe next time she would think before making a life-changing decision without him. He took a second donut before heading back upstairs; Jean wasn’t particularly hungry, but every donut he ate was one that the new interlopers couldn’t have.

His room already didn’t feel like his own anymore. His large, queen-sized bed had been replaced by a set of bunk beds (Bunk beds! What were they, twelve?), to open up more floor space, for the furniture Marco was bringing with him; a desk and a small bookshelf, according to Jean’s mother. Jean had moved all of his posters to one side of the room, so Marco would have room to hang his. Half of the closet and dresser had been cleared, as well. For now, the room looked quite spacious, but Jean knew that wouldn’t last. Jean was awful at keeping the room clean when he only had himself to worry about, but two teenage boys crammed in there? It was going to be a disaster. 

“He better keep his shit out of my side of the room,” Jean muttered to himself as he crawled up into his bed, donut between his lips. The top bunk was a huge pain in the ass, but it also offered more privacy, so Jean decided to lay claim to it before Marco even got the chance. When you’re a teenager, privacy is very important. For a lot of reasons.

From his perch, he had a perfect view of the driveway. Jean shoved the powdery pastry into his mouth as he looked out the window, hoping to catch a glimpse of his new roommate. He knew almost nothing about him, other than what his mother told him: he was an honor’s student, played clarinet in his school’s marching band, and he helped coach a little league team every year. He was polite, smart, kind; all of the things a good son should be.

In other words, he was a big fucking dork.

Their parents tried to arrange for them to meet three times already, but Jean always came up with an excuse to get out of it. He wasn’t feeling well, he had plans with his friends that he’d forgotten about, Sasha was in the hospital because she ate too many crayons on a dare (again). At the time, ditching seemed like a good idea, but now Jean wished he'd at least looked up the kid on Facebook. A complete stranger was about to move into his house, into his room, and that made Jean nervous.

He spent more time than he would ever admit imagining what Marco would look like, before he finally settled on one mental image. He was a little shorter than average, with lots of thick, unwashed hair. His face was covered with freckles, and his glasses were so thick that they made his eyes look twice as big as they actually were. Jean was eager to find out of his predictions were true. 

He saw Mr. Bodt first, chatting with his mother at the end of the driveway. He was a tall man, with thin-rimmed glasses and a thinner head of dark hair. Jean had met him before, years ago at a company party. He seemed nice enough back then; kind of shy, a little jumpy, but nice.

Finally, Marco walked into his limited line of sight. At least, Jean assumed it was him; the stack of boxes in his arms hid the top half of his body. He stopped to talk to Jean’s mom for a few moments before he continued into the house.

Jean chewed on his bottom lip as he waited for Marco to show up in the bedroom. He could hear him climbing the steps, struggling under the weight of his boxes, but Jean didn’t dare come down to help him. That might give Marco the impression that he was going to help him with the rest of his shit, and that was the last thing Jean wanted to do. No way. That nerd could carry his own junk. 

In an effort to look as disinterested as possible, Jean pulled a magazine out from under his pillow. After flipping it open, he was thankful he grabbed Rolling Stone, instead of… that other magazine he had stashed under there. 

The door inched open, and Jean watched over the top of his magazine as Marco entered the room, dropping his boxes on the floor as soon as he was inside. He took a deep breath, stretching out his arms, giving Jean plenty of time to examine him.

He was not what Jean was expecting. He was tall, at least as tall as Jean, with a thin build and long legs. He was already sweating through his Captain America t-shirt, his short black hair plastered to his forehead. When Marco finally turned so Jean could get a good look at his face, he saw that he was right about the freckles, at least.

He smiled when his soft, brown eyes finally settled on Jean. It was a gorgeous smile. Not the fake, photoshopped-white smiles you see on magazine covers, but a big, genuine smile, like he really meant it. 

Jean gulped.

Shit. Marco was _hot_.

“Hi there,” he said, with a cute, awkward wave. Jean’s heart leapt into his throat. Of course he’d have a perfect voice to match that perfect smile. “… You’re Jean, right?”

Jean realized that his magazine probably wasn’t enough to mask his blatant staring. He decided to ditch it completely, dropping it before he cleared his throat. “Yeah.”

Marco’s smile widened. “It’s nice to meet you, finally. Nancy’s told me so much about you, it’s nice to have a face to go with all of those stories.”

Nancy. Jean couldn’t help wrinkling his nose at that. It was always weird, hearing someone call your parent by their first name. Then again, what else was Marco supposed to call her? _Mrs. Kirstein_ would have been too formal (Was that even correct anymore? Was she going to change her name now that she was married?), and _Mom_ was just plain weird.

Marco must have noticed Jean’s sour expression. “Oh, she didn’t say anything embarrassing, I promise.”

“I doubt that,” Jean snorted. “Telling embarrassing stories about me is her favorite hobby.”

Marco laughed, and Jean felt a small swell of pride, knowing that he’d been able to make that happen. “Okay, maybe some of them were a little embarrassing, but she didn’t pull out the baby pictures or anything. Anyway, I’m Marco.”

“Yeah, I know,” Jean mentally kicked himself; he hadn’t meant for that to sound so harsh. “Er, I mean, Mom told me about you, too.”

Marco didn’t seem to notice, or if he did, he didn’t care. “It’s too bad you couldn’t come out to dinner with us last weekend, we had a really great time. Is your friend okay?”

“My friend…?”

“The one who ate the crayons.”

“Oh, shit…” Over the years, Jean had perfected the art of lying to his mother. He never had a problem keeping his stories straight; he’d even texted Sasha the details of his lie, so she could cover for him if his mother called to check up on her. Apparently those skills didn’t carry over when it came to lying to sexy stepbrothers. “Yeah, she’s fine. This sort of shit happens with her all the time, it’s routine by now.”

“She sounds fun,” Marco chuckled, finally tearing into his first box. “It’s cool if I take the bottom bunk, right?”

Jean nodded, “Yeah, sure. I wanted top, anyway.”

“Well, that worked out nicely. I hope everything else goes this smoothly.”

“Yeah…” Jean had spent weeks thinking of passive-aggressive things he could say to Marco when he arrived, but now that he was here, moving his things into Jean’s room, he suddenly couldn’t remember any of them. Maybe this arrangement wouldn’t be so bad after all?

_You should say something to him,_ Jean thought, watching as Marco disappeared into the bottom bunk with his navy blue sheets. _Come on Kirstein, just say the first thing that pops into your head._

“Do you want help bringing up the rest of your stuff?”

Jean regretted it the second the words were out of his mouth. Sure, he was warming up to the idea of sharing his room, but that didn’t mean he was up for manual labor. Outside. In the middle of summer.

Marco immediately crawled out of his bed, beaming up at him. “Yeah, that would be awesome! I don’t have a whole lot, but my desk is kind of heavy.”

“Great,” Jean said through gritted teeth. If it were anyone else, Jean would have come up with an excuse to get out of it. But when Marco smiled at him like that…

Ugh, he couldn’t believe himself. Marco was just a boy. A really cute boy, with a great jaw and nice broad shoulders, but still just a boy! Maybe other people were weak enough to fall for stuff like that – shit, even his own mother had gotten herself swept up in a cheesy office romance – but Jean Kirstein certainly wasn’t weak! He’d learned his lesson with Mikasa Ackerman back in the seventh grade. No one, not even people with beautiful dark hair, would ever be worth all of the trouble crushes brought with them.

Yet, there he was, climbing down from his bunk and following Marco outside. He groaned as soon as they were out the door. It was still June, the real summer heat was still on the horizon, but Jean loathed the sticky, humid weather with every bone in his body.

Marco glanced over his shoulder, eyebrows furrowed with concern. “Not a fan of the heat, huh?”

“It’s the fucking worst."

“I’m sorry,” Marco apologized with a nervous laugh.

Jean rolled his eyes. His mother hadn’t lied about Marco being polite. “What are you apologizing for? It’s not your fault that it’s hot as balls out here.”

“I’m sor- I mean, we’ll just have to hurry up and get it all inside, then."

Before Jean could say anything else, a large, orange balloon hit Marco in the chest, exploding and sending clear liquid everywhere with a loud _pop_. Jean jumped, not expecting an assault so early in the morning, but that was nothing compared to the (totally not adorable) yelp that escaped Marco’s lips.

“Oh shit, sorry!” The half-assed apology came from the bushes, and Eren Jaeger, the world’s worst neighbor, crawled out of his hiding place. Predictably, Armin followed shortly after, toting a plastic bucket filled with more water balloons. “I was aiming for Jean.”

Jean glared at Eren, wishing he had something he could throw back. Preferably a rock, or maybe a small tool. “Don’t mind him, Marco. Jaeger couldn’t hit water if he fell out of a fucking boat.”

“Ha! Good one, Jean. How long did it take you to come up with that?”

“About as long as it’s going to take me to kick your ass!”

“Jean Kirstein!” Jean stiffened when he heard his mother yelling behind him. Busted. If she was pulling out his full name, she must have been really pissed. “If you came out here just to pick a fight with Eren-“

“As if that’s even worth my time!” Jean shouted back at her. Sheesh, couldn’t she mind her own business? “I’m helping Marco move his things into our room.”

She stared at her son, genuinely surprised. “… You are? But I thought you said-”

“Yeah, well… I changed my mind.”

Her expression softened, and she even smiled as she gave her son a gentle pat on the cheek. “You’re such a kind boy, Jeanny. I knew you would come around.”

“Mom, stop…” Jean mumbled, swatting her hand away. If his face weren’t already flushed because of the heat, he would certainly be blushing now. Jeez, it was bad enough that he instantly reverted to seven-year-old behavior the second Eren showed up, but did his Mom _really_ have to gush like that in front of Marco?

He glanced over at the other boy, who looked like he was trying his hardest not to laugh.

_Great job with the first impression,_ Jean thought, hating himself just a little bit more.

Eren and Armin had taken off, like they usually did as soon as Mrs. Kirstein appeared on the scene. After an entire childhood of rivalry and (sometimes violent) competition, Jean’s mom had no qualms about lecturing Eren just as thoroughly as she would her own son. Jean couldn’t even call him a coward for running away; no one could give a Disappointed Mom Lecture like Nancy Kirstein.

“Well, I think I’m going to get back to work,” she said, sighing as she eyed up the moving truck. “Let me know if the two of you need any help.”

Marco nodded, “Thanks, Nancy.”

Jean waited until his mother was safely inside – that stack of boxes was way too much for her to carry on her own, but he knew she’d just brush him off if he went to help her – before he spoke again. Hopefully he could earn back some cool points before the two most embarrassing people in the world permanently ruined his reputation.

“You must have some shitty luck, getting nailed by Jaeger and you haven’t even been here for an hour. Welcome to the neighborhood, I guess?”

Marco shrugged, “It’s fine, really. As hot as it is out here, that cold water feels really refreshing.”

“It’s not just water. Jaeger always fills those things with lemonade.”

“Lemonade?”

“So you’re sticky as fuck afterwards,” Jean explained.

“Oh, I see...” Marco felt the material of his shirt. “I guess that’s pretty clever.”

“It was actually my idea,” Jean said quickly. It may have been childish, but if Marco was impressed, he sure as hell wasn’t going to let Eren take the credit for his handy work. “But I filled them up with red Kool-Aid, so they’d stain his clothes. I got him real good on Easter Sunday when we were seven. _Before_ church.”

“That’s terrible,” Marco chided, but he still laughed. Jean decided he liked that laugh. It was surprisingly deep, and he didn’t do that stupid snort-thing that Connie always did when he laughed. Jean also liked the way Marco’s drenched shirt was clinging to his skin, tight enough that his nipples were poking through-

“Anyway,” said Marco. “I’m going to grab the rest of my clothes, so I can change into a clean shirt. We can get the desk on the next trip.”

“Y-yeah, alright…” Jean watched as Marco grabbed a suitcase from the moving van. His new roommate didn’t seem to notice that he wasn’t making any move to help. Even as Marco went back into the house, Jean couldn’t bring himself to move, his mind too preoccupied with the thought of rubbing and pinching Marco’s nipples through damp fabric.

Jean’s mouth went dry.

_I’m so fucked._


	2. Chapter 2

Jean learned a lot about Marco over the next two weeks.

Marco’s mom passed away when he was very young. Ovarian cancer, he said, but he didn’t remember too much about her. Aside from his dad, Marco’s only remaining family was a set of grandparents who lived on the other side of the country. They sent Christmas gifts, birthday cards, and came to visit occasionally, but they weren’t very close. He looked really sad when he talked about it, but he didn’t cry or anything. Jean decided not to bring it up again.

They were both going to be juniors when the new school year began, though Marco was several months older than Jean. He used to play baseball, but he wasn’t quite good enough to make his high school’s team. Marco talked about school, too, and was particularly happy when Jean informed him that Trost High School had an extensive amount of AP courses. He was in marching band, just like Jean’s mom had told him. Seeing Marco’s face light up when he talked about how much fun it was, how much he liked being a small, but important part of a big ensemble, made Jean rethink how geeky the whole thing was.

So much so that Jean even agreed to go to a football game so he could watch Marco in the halftime show.

His favorite Avenger was Captain America. He didn’t put milk on his cereal in the morning, because he didn’t like the soggy texture. He liked to sing in the shower, and he was fucking terrible at it. His favorite band was The Beatles, and he’d covered half of his wall space with their posters and album art. His favorite colors were green and blue. He wanted to be a nurse – not a doctor, he made sure to specify, a _nurse_ – or maybe a therapist, because he wanted to help sick people. Jean wondered if it had anything to do with his mom, but he didn’t ask.

Jean talked about himself just as much. He talked about his dad, who took off when Jean was twelve and hadn’t been seen or heard from since. He didn’t really care that his father left, and he told Marco just as much before he could start feeling sorry for him. His mom was better off without him, anyway.

Jean wasn’t nearly as involved as Marco was in extracurricular activities, but he still had plenty to talk about. He talked about the music he liked, the video games he was playing, and about his ongoing battle with Eren Jaeger. Marco even offered to take part in Jean’s next offensive as retribution for the lemonade balloon. He told Marco about his friends, Sasha and Connie, and about all the shenanigans they were constantly dragging him into. Not that he minded. If he wasn’t out with them, he would have been at home picking fights with Eren; at least those two were pleasant to be around. Most of the time.

After a week, Jean even worked up the courage to show Marco his sketchbook. When he talked about his art, most people reminded him how unrealistic such a career path would be, so Jean tended to keep it to himself. He didn’t even take art classes at school.

Marco wasn’t like that. He seemed thoroughly impressed with all of Jean’s work. After that, every time he caught Jean hunched over his spiral-bound book, Marco sat down next to him, content to watch him sketch out whatever popped into his head. It was relaxing, Marco said, it reminded him of watching Bob Ross on TV when he stayed home alone as a kid. Sometimes Jean got performance anxiety, smudging his drawings or forgetting important details. But it was worth it to hear Marco praise him as he worked. And feel Marco’s body so close to his.

They _clicked_ , in a way Jean had never clicked with anyone. They liked all of the same video games, and they were equally bad at all of them. He easily adjusted to Jean’s more abrasive personality, and never took Jean’s heat-of-the-moment insults personally.  Marco laughed at his jokes, and didn’t mind Jean talking back to the TV when the characters in whatever movie they were watching made particularly stupid choices. Marco even joined in occasionally.  

The fact that Marco was really, really hot certainly didn’t hurt. As the days passed, Jean often caught himself watching his new family member for a little too long. It was difficult not to, especially when Marco would stretch out those long, strong arms, causing the fabric of his shirt to grow taut around his chest. Sometimes his shirt would ride up a little, revealing his belly button and a thin trail of dark hair that continued underneath his waistband-

Er, yeah. Having a stepbrother was a lot better than Jean had originally anticipated.

So, when Sasha and Connie invited him out for “a crazy night on the town” the following Friday, the first thing Jean did was ask Marco if he wanted to tag along.

As soon as Jean received Connie’s text ( **were here nerd hurry up!!! u gotta check dis out!!!** ), they were out the door, with Jean’s mom hollering at them to be back at a reasonable time. But instead of being greeted by Connie’s ancient Toyota, a gorgeous, red Volkswagen convertible sat in the driveway. With the top down, they could easily see Sasha and Connie inside, Sasha’s favorite Marina and the Diamonds CD blaring for the entire neighborhood to hear.

Jean recognized the car right away; the thing had been sitting in Sasha’s garage for years. It was her mother’s pride and joy, too precious to actually be driven anywhere except on very special occasions. Jean always wondered if it even worked; he’d never actually seen anyone drive it.

Sasha honked the horn. “Get in losers, we’re going shopping!”

“How the fuck did you convince your mom to let you borrow this thing?” Jean asked, eyeing up the car. Out in the daylight, it was pretty impressive.

“I didn’t,” she said, pulling down her bright pink sunglasses to wink at him. “My folks are on vacation this week, remember?”

Jean shook his head, “You’re fucked as soon as your mom gets back.”

“What she doesn’t know won’t hurt me,” Sasha waved her hand dismissively. Jean wasn’t going to push the issue. If Sasha wanted to get her ass grounded for life, that was her business. He might as well enjoy the sweet ride in the meantime. “I wanted to impress the new meat.”

“Well… it worked,” Marco said, his eyes glued to the convertible, fascinated. Jean felt a twinge of jealousy; if only Marco would look at him like that…

He shook his head, as if that would somehow remove that horribly cheesy thought. Christ, what was getting into him lately?

“Awesome! I’m Sasha, by the way.” Smirking, she pointed to the bareheaded boy in the seat next to her. “And this is Connie.”

Connie nodded in Marco’s direction. “Yo!”

“C’mon, get in, get in!” Sasha was bouncing up and down with glee, her sunglasses flopping out of place. Jean could tell that neither of them were going to get out and open the door for them, so he climbed into the backseat. Marco hesitated for a moment, but followed after him soon enough.

The first stop on their outings was always the gas station. Not for gas, but because Sasha insisted they had the best slushies in town, and refused to go anywhere else.

“They’re going to try to talk you into getting a large,” Jean whispered to Marco as they stepped inside. The cold blast of air conditioning as soon as they crossed the threshold was a godsend. The convertible fun to look at, but no roof meant the temperature inside the car was the same as the temperature outside: too fucking hot. Jean was already sweating through his shirt. “Don’t do it, no matter what they say. You’ll regret it for the rest of the night.”

As usual, Connie went straight for the blue raspberry, the one that would turn his entire mouth blue. Sasha always mixed every available flavor to create a vile concoction that everyone else on earth would agree was disgusting (an invention she claimed to have spent years perfecting, like some sort of gas station Frankenstein).

Connie scoffed when he saw Marco reaching for the medium sized cup. “Really? A medium?”

“We’re going to have dinner, right?” Marco asked. “So I don’t need a bigger size.”

“Wow,” Sasha said, voice dripping with fake reverence. “That is the weakest shit I’ve ever heard.”

“Don’t egg him on, guys.” Jean grabbed a medium for himself, deciding to stick with the generic Coke flavor this time.

“Y’know, he has a point,” Connie said, but his smirk told Jean that the goading wasn’t close to being over. “Freckles is new at this. Maybe we should take it easy on him.”

Sasha shrugged, “You’re right. Jean’s been rolling with us for years and he still can’t take it.”

“You don’t have to go easy on me!” Marco insisted, reaching for the largest size. Connie and Sasha high-fived, and cheered him on as he stepped up to the slushie machine.

Jean sighed. Oh well, he tried to warn him. He watched Marco fill the large cup with cherry slush, knowing there was nothing more he could do with for him now. He would have to learn his lesson the hard way.

* * * *

“I’ll be right back,” Marco said as he slipped out of the booth. He didn’t need to tell anyone where he was going; he’d already made three trips to the bathroom since they’d arrived at Denny’s. And he hadn’t even finished that monstrous slushie.

“Man, that guy’s the best,” Connie said, loud enough that Marco surely heard him as he made his escape. “You didn’t even have to piss this much the first time, Jean.”

“He’s totally a keeper,” Sasha agreed. “We should have gone to a buffet, I bet we could have conned him into an eating contest, too.”

“Hey, knock it off!” Jean’s fist collided with the table, just hard enough to let those two know he meant it. “You guys always insist on torturing anyone who tries to hang out with us. This is why we don’t have any other friends.”

“Sheesh, we’re just messing around with him,” said Connie. “It’s not like we mean anything by it. You used to think this was funny, remember?”

“Man, you never stand up for anyone but yourself,” Sasha said, sipping on her coke. “Are you sweet on him or something?”

“Don’t be stupid,” Jean muttered, feeling his face heat up at the accusation. “He’s my stepbrother.”

“Oh shit, he’s blushing!” Connie pointed at him. “Sasha, check it out! He’s actually _blushing_!”

Jean glared, “Be a little louder, I don’t think they heard you at the Burger King down the street.”

“Aww, Jean’s got a crush,” Sasha nudged his foot under the table teasingly. Jean tried to kick her back, but her foot had already retreated. “You’ve got great taste, too. He’s _so cute_.”

Connie shrugged, “Eh, he’s alright. He’s too nice for me, I think.”

“Well, good thing he’s for Jean, and not you,” Sasha said, playfully elbowing Connie.

Jean slumped down in the both, hiding his face behind his hands. “He’s not _for_ anyone. Especially me.”

Sasha and Connie both looked surprised. “Why not?”

“Because he’s my _stepbrother_ , you morons,” Jean grumbled into his palms. “How fucked up would that be?”

“I mean, yeah, that’s kind of weird,” Connie admitted. “But it’s not like you’re related or something, right? If your babies aren’t going to have extra toes, what’s the big deal?”

That at least got Jean to crack a smile. “Mom would fucking murder me.”

“You’ve never cared about what your mom thinks before,” said Connie. “Why start now?”

“Well, for starters, it’s would make things awkward as fuck at home. How would you feel if your stepbrother – who you have to share your bedroom with, by the way – told you he wanted to bone you?” Jean felt himself blushing at his own bluntness. “… Hypothetically, I mean.”

“It depends,” Connie tapped his chin, as if he was carefully considering the situation. “ _Hypothetically_ , is my stepbrother hot? Like, on a scale of one to Adam Levine?”

Jean groaned. He should have known Tweedle Dumb and Dumber wouldn’t be the least bit helpful. “I don’t even know if he’s into dudes…”

Sasha raised her eyebrows skeptically. “You haven’t talked about that yet? You’ve been living with him for two weeks.”

“It just hasn’t come up yet, alright?!” It was a lie, of course. There had been plenty of opportunities to ask Marco about his sexual preferences, or to bring up his own. The truth of the matter was, Jean was scared to bring it up. He was usually pretty flippant when it came to his own sexuality – as he was with pretty much everything else – but it was different with Marco. It wasn’t just about his inappropriate attraction to him; what if he thought Jean was gross? What if it ruined the cool friendship-thing they had going on? If Marco was a homophobe, he’d find out eventually anyway, but that possibility made Jean’s stomach turn every time he thought about broaching the topic, so he kept his mouth shut.

He actually cared about what Marco thought about him, Jean realized suddenly. Stuff like that had never mattered before. If someone didn’t like him - for whatever reason, sexuality included - then as far as Jean was concerned, they weren’t worth his time or effort. But with Marco, it was different. For the first time in his life, Jean wanted someone to like him.

“We could ask him,” Sasha offered. “Like, right now. It doesn’t have to be a big deal. We’ll just… start talking about dating, and see what he says. It’ll be really subtle.”

_That… actually sounds like a pretty good idea_ , Jean thought, mulling over Sasha’s suggestion. He could get an answer without exposing any information about himself, and go from there.

Before Jean could say anything else, the waitress arrived with their meals; double cheeseburger with extra cheese for Sasha, and a corndog combo for Connie. Jean had decided to take pity on his stepbrother, and agreed to split a chicken strip basket with him. Knowing Sasha, there would be at least one more snack stop before the night was over. He could always pick up something if he got hungry later.

Marco returned to their table shortly after the waitress left, his eyes falling on the chicken strips with an expression of pure dread. But that passed quickly, and Marco was smiling again by the time he slid back into the booth, his thigh brushing up against Jean’s as he did so.

_Do you have to sit so close to me?_ Jean thought, trying his best to ignore how nice the contact felt. He reached for his Pepsi, hoping it would cool him down. _You’re not allowed to be this hot and this close to me at the same time, it’s not fair._

“So, Marco,” Sasha said, as she began drowning her fries in ketchup. “Are you single?”

Jean nearly coked on his soda. _You call that subtle?!_

Thankfully, Marco didn’t seem to think it was an odd question. “Yeah, I am. I was dating a guy before I moved, but he didn’t think it would work out, with us going to different schools and all. We hadn’t been together very long, anyway. I don’t think either of us were too upset over it.”

“So you’re gay?” Connie blurted out the question the second Marco stopped talking, leaning across the table with keen interest. Jean wished he could crawl under the booth and hide for the rest of his life. Which he might have done, if he weren’t so interested in Marco’s answer.

“Uh, I guess?” Marco shrugged. “I donno, I guess I’ve always _preferred_ guys, but girls are pretty great, too.”

Sasha nodded, “Heck yeah they are!”

Jean frowned, “How would _you_ know what girls are like? Have you ever gone out with one?”

Sasha shoved another handful of fries into her mouth, trying to pull off a smug grin. “I don’t tell you everything, y’know.”

“Yeah right!” Connie snorted. “The only woman in your life is Little Debbie.”

That got a laugh out of everyone, even Sasha. It was nice, how seamlessly Marco was fitting into their little clusterfuck of a friend group. Then again, Marco was so nice, it was hard for Jean to imagine him _not_ getting along with someone. He always seemed to know what to say, and if he didn’t, he had that million-dollar smile to fall back on.

_And he likes boys,_ Jean thought, trying to ignore the way his heart was pounding in his ears as he dwelled on that fact _._ So what if he was into dudes? That didn’t make him any less off limits.

Marco was the first one to stop laughing long enough to form a coherent sentence. “So, dinner, then what?”

“Well, in Trost, we’ve got a grand total of three things to do on Friday night,” Connie said, counting them on his fingers. “Movies, bowling, and the roller rink. Since you’re the new meat, you can pick.”

“Well, that’s three more things than we have to do in Jinae…” Marco rubbed the skin between his nose and upper lip with his forefinger; he always seemed to do that when he was thinking about something. “Hmmm… skating, I guess?”

Jean groaned. Of course Marco would pick skating. Sure, bowling was pretty boring, but at least Jean was sort of okay at it. Better than Connie and Sasha, anyway. Sasha had to play with bumpers to even stand a chance. Connie just didn’t give a fuck; he’d spend most of his time playing the rigged arcade games they kept shoved in the back corner of the alley.

But skating was a different story. He could get around the rink just fine, but his friends were both _good_. Really good.

“Good choice!” Sasha’s approval showed in her smile. “They have the best hotdogs, you have to try one when we get there.”

Jean almost laughed as he watched the color drain from Marco’s face. “But, we’re eating now-“

“Shhh,” Jean whispered. “Don’t even bother.”

“That’ll be like, an hour from now,” Sasha said reassuringly. “Plenty of time to build up your appetite, Freckles.”

****

Trost Roller Rink was about as underwhelming as a direct-to-DVD Disney sequel. The walls were all painted horrible, obnoxious neon colors, made more horrible and obnoxious by the dozens of backlights that haphazardly littered the ceiling. The DJ, if he could even be called that, hadn’t updated his collection of CDs since 2004. All of the rentable skates smelled like a men’s locker room. And, despite Sasha’s praise, those hot dogs were probably sitting in that case for days before some desperate fool came along and ordered one. Most of the patrons were younger kids, but there were plenty of older people loitering about – parents and a handful teenagers that Jean vaguely recognized from school.

Marco had to make another trip to the bathroom before they could rent their skates. Sasha and Connie got bored of waiting quickly, abandoning Jean so they could ‘get their skate on’ while he waited for his stepbrother.

Marco emerged from the men’s restroom. “Sorry about that.”

“I told you not to get the extra large slushie.” Jean shoved the skates into Marco’s hands. “You’re a size eleven, right?”

“Uh, yeah, I am…” Marco eyed the skates curiously. “How did you know?”

Jean froze. That was kind of a creepy thing to remember, wasn’t it? He wasn’t trying to be creepy! He was just good at remembering details, especially details about sweet, dark-haired boys who just happened to be sharing his bedroom.

“… Just a lucky guess.”

That explanation seemed good enough for Marco. The two boys changed into their skates, leaving their shoes in an empty cubbyhole before taking off for the rink. Skating on the smooth carpet was easy enough, but Marco hesitated before stepping past the barrier and onto the cement floor.

Jean paused. “Have you ever done this before?”

“… No,” Marco replied reluctantly. “That’s actually why I wanted to try it, to be honest.”

“Okay, just… stay close to me,” Jean instructed, pushing out onto the rink. He was a horrible teacher, and he knew it, but at least it was an excuse to stick together. “We’ll take it slow. If you feel like you’re going to fall, grab onto me.”

“But what if I knock you over?”

“You won’t.” Jean wasn’t nearly as confident as he sounded. Marco didn’t look like he would be _too_ heavy, but he was also a little taller than Jean. Oh well, it wouldn’t be the first time he’d fallen on his ass, and it wouldn’t be the last.

Slowly, Marco began to move forward, looking down at his feet in fierce concentration. Jean wanted to instruct him further – don’t look down, it’s actually easier if you move a little faster, no don’t point your feet that way – but Marco toppled over before he got the chance to.

Jean winced; maybe he should have given Marco some tips before they started… “You okay?”

“Y-yeah, I’m good,” Marco said, eyes screwed shut as he rubbed his tailbone. “I think I’ll be feeling that one for a while.”

“Everyone falls the first time.” Jean braced himself before offering Marco a hand, decidedly not mentioning that he’d fallen down eight times before he managed to even stand up wearing roller skates for the first time.

“Thanks…” Marco mumbled, accepting Jean’s hand gratefully. Despite the painful fall, he still managed to smile, even if it looked strained. “You think I could just… sort of… hold onto you for a bit? Until I get the hang of it. I don’t want to have another fall like that.”

Jean felt his stomach plummet.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

He tried to tell himself it wasn’t a big deal; Marco certainly didn’t seem to think so, anyway. He just stood there, looking at Jean expectantly, like a kid asking for a treat during a trip to the grocery store.

_Get your shit together!_ He told himself. _It’s not like he’s asking you to fucking kiss him. He’s pretty much your_ family _now. Normal families hold hands all the time!_

“Y-yeah, sure.” Even though he’d given the okay, he still felt his heart jump when Marco grabbed his hand. His skin was soft, but his grip was so tight that it almost hurt. Marco’s other hand latched itself onto Jean’s sleeve, clutching just as tightly. He really was afraid of falling again, wasn’t he?

“Hey, relax,” Jean squeezed Marco’s hand back. He was usually so laid back at home; it was strange seeing him tense up like that. “It’s going to be okay. I’m not going to let you fall, I swear.”

Jean couldn’t believe himself. That was easily one of the stupidest thing he’s ever said, and he’d said more than his share of stupid shit. This whole thing was stupid. Why should he care of Marco fell on his stupid freckled ass again?

Jean derailed that train of thought right there. Thinking about Marco’s ass was the last thing he should be doing. He needed to keep his mind on the task at hand: teaching Marco to skate.

“You have to keep knees bent, and try to keep your toes pointed out. If you can make your strides longer, that helps too.”

“Right, got it!” Marco nodded his head, determined. Together, they began moving, Marco wobbling as he tried to stay upright. Jean set a slow pace for them, slow enough that if he’d been able to pay attention to anything besides the boy clinging to him for dear life, he might have noticed the same pack of eight year olds skate past them three times before the two of them made it around the rink once. It was like an awkward three-legged race, except on wheels, but the more they moved, the more Marco seemed to get the hang of it.

Jean was relieved. For all his bravado, falling was not a pleasant experience. Marco was loosening up, too. His facial expression became less anxious, and eventually he let go of Jean’s sleeve and simply held his hand as they made their way around again.

“That was nice assplant back there, Marco!” Connie called as he sped past them, cackling like a maniac. Jean could hear that stupid laugh-snort as he whizzed away. Sasha was right behind him, skating backwards with more finesse than most people had while facing forward. It was like she had eyes on the back of her head; Jean had never once seen her run into someone, unless she was doing it on purpose.

Marco gulped, “Wow, they’re really good at this.”

“Don’t compare yourself to them, or your self-esteem will never recover.”

“Y-yeah, I picked up on that…” Marco said, his grip on Jean’s hand growing tighter. “Can you skate like that, too?”

“Fuck no. Sasha wants to do roller derby when she’s old enough, so she practices a lot. I think Connie just tags along because he’d have nothing to do without her.”

“He could hang out with you.”

“I don’t usually hang out with them one-on-one.” Jean sped up a little, and Marco adjusted to their new speed easily. Jean wondered if he would want to let go of his hand soon, but didn’t mention it. Marco would tell him when he was ready. “I mean, I’m sure if I asked Connie to come chill with me, he would. Sasha, too. But… I donno, it’s like… we’re all friends, but those two are _best_ friends. They were friends for years before I ever even met them, and they do _everything_ together. I’m just sort of along for the ride.”

“That’s… kind of sad.”

Jean scowled; that was the last thing he wanted to hear. “Hey, I don’t need any pity, okay? I could find other friends if I really wanted to.”

“I didn’t mean it like that!” Marco said quickly. “Sorry, I guess… I just know how that feels. It was kind of like that with my friends back home. They went through some really rough stuff when they were kids, before I came around. So they have that bond that I’ll never have with them. Don’t get me wrong, I wouldn’t trade them for anything, but sometimes it feels like they’ve got a wall up that I’ll never be able to break through.”

“Oh, y-yeah…” Jean mumbled. That was exactly the way he felt about Connie and Sasha, put into the perfect words that he could never quite find. He honestly _didn’t_ want any other friends, but it was hard not to feel like an outsider sometimes. “That’s exactly what it feels like.”

“But hey, we have each other now, right?” Marco said, nudging Jean gently (and nearly stumbling over in the process). “It’s not being a third wheel if you’re not doing it alone.”

Jean felt his chest tighten. If it were anyone else spouting that corny bullshit, Jean would have rolled his eyes. But for some reason, it didn’t sound corny when Marco said it. It sounded genuine, _real_ , like he actually meant it.

“ _Alright boys and girls!_ ” The announcement came over the PA system so suddenly that they both jumped. “ _It’s time to slow things down for the couple’s skate! Grab yourself a partner and lets get started!_ ”

“We, uh, can sit this one out, if you want,” Jean offered. Maybe, in another reality, couple skating with Marco while _As Long as You Love Me_ played in the background would have sounded appealing. But unfortunately, as Jean kept having to remind himself, Marco was his fucking _stepbrother_ , and he needed to nip this attraction in the bud before things got out of hand.

Marco shrugged. “What’s the point? We’re already holding hands.”

“Well, it’s the couple’s skate. People will think we’re, y’know…”

“Gay?”

Jean was going to say ‘dating’, but… “Yeah.”

“Jean, I am gay, remember?”

“Yeah, I know.”

“Are you worried about people thinking _you’re_ gay?”

“No, not really.” Jean bit his lip. Marco had been completely honest about his own sexuality. Jean knew he might as well take the plunge. Marco was the least judgmental person he had ever met; he had nothing to worry about. In retrospect, he felt like an idiot for worrying about it in the first place. “I am, too. Gay, I mean. Kind of. Bisexual.”

“… Oh,” Marco blinked, and his brown eyes lit up in a way that Jean couldn’t just blame on the slowly flashing lights above them. “ _Oh_!”

Jean wasn’t sure what reaction he was expecting, but that wasn’t it. “What?”

“Nothing,” Marco replied, a little too hastily. “Come on, let’s skate.”

Jean was glad with the subject was dropped easily. It was kind of a relief to have it out in the open without having to elaborate. What Marco chose to do with that information was his own business.

_Not that I expect him to do anything._

They were quiet as they moved, but not necessarily awkward. Marco kept looking down at his feet – probably still afraid he was going to fall, Jean figured – and as a result, he missed all of the obscene hand gestures Connie and Sasha made whenever they skated by.

As soon as the couples skate ended, and the music switched back over to something more upbeat (Hanson, Jean recognized the annoyingly high-pitched voices right away) the rink was once again flooded with small children. Jean considered letting go of Marco’s hand, to see if he could do it on his own. He was doing remarkably well now. He’d gone several minutes without so much as a wobble, and he didn’t look half as nervous as he did when they started.

But Marco spoke before he got the chance. “Hey, do you think we could stop for a minute? I have to, y’know-“

Jean smirked, “Piss?”

Marco nodded sheepishly. “You were right, I shouldn’t have gotten the large slushie.”

Jean did his best impersonation of his mother (“I told you so! Maybe next time, you’ll listen to me!”) as he guided Marco to the edge of the rink. By the time he was safely back on the carpet, he was laughing so hard Jean wondered if he’d wet himself. He watched Marco, just to make sure he got into the bathroom safely. He seemed to be doing better on the carpeted floor, at least.

“So, how’s your first date going?”

“Huh?” Jean turned to the left, and then glanced down to find Connie standing next to him. How long had he been there? He’d said something, but Jean wasn’t paying enough attention to catch it.

The way Connie snickered told Jean that whatever it was, it wasn’t anything good. “Man, you’ve got it bad. Like, Mikasa Ackerman in the seventh grade _bad_ , holy shit.”

“I do not!” Jean hated how defensive he sounded, but it was the truth. Marco was too hot for his own good, and maybe – just _maybe_ – holding his hand was pretty damn wonderful. But that was all there was to it. There was no way in hell things had escalated to the same level as Mikasa Ackerman in the seventh grade. Jean swore he’d never let himself get in that deep again, and that was a promise he’d keep until the day he died.

“If you say so, bro. Sasha’s taking a hotdog break, you want one?”

Jean made a disgusted face; he’d never understand why Sasha thought eating those things was a good idea. “Fuck no. I’ll come sit with you, though.”

Jean followed Connie, weaving through the small crowd easily as they made their way to the concession stand. He paused in front of the bathrooms, wondering if he should wait for Marco. 

Connie soon noticed that Jean was no longer on his heels. “Dude, you coming or what?”

“I’m going to catch Marco when he’s done in the can,” Jean said, pointing over his shoulder at the restrooms behind him.

“Dude, that’s-“

“I don’t want him to get lost!” He was already sick and tired of being teased. Having a (sort of) crush on his stepbrother was bad enough without Connie and Sasha annoying him about it all night.

Connie nodded, “Of course.”

“I don’t have it bad! I don’t have anything, got it?! So you can take whatever shitty thing you were about to say and shove it, Connie.”

“Hey, you’re the one getting all defensive,” Connie said, holding his hands up in mock surrender. “I was just gonna to say that’s probably a good idea. Especially since he can’t skate for shit.”

Jean swallowed around the lump currently growing in his throat. _Fuck_.

“Well, see you in a few!” Connie gave him a salute before he took off, leaving Jean alone, his face glowing bright enough to rival the black lights on the ceiling.


	3. Chapter 3

“See, the car is exactly where it was when I left!” Even Sasha’s loud, booming could barely be heard over the sound of the garage door closing behind them. “Not a scratch on it. Mom will never know the difference.”

“What about the mileage?” Marco asked.

The color drained from Sasha’s face. “The what?”

“The miles that we put on the car,” said Marco. “The odometer tracks them.”

Jean rolled his eyes, “Did you seriously not think about that before you stole your mom’s car?”

“S-so what if I didn’t?” Sasha tried to laugh off her mistake, despite the fact that she looked absolutely terrified. “Besides, we just drove around town. I bet she won’t even notice the difference.”

“Uhhh-huh,” Connie nodded, looking unconvinced. “And, what was it you wanted us to write on your tombstone? Because you’re fucking _dead_.”

“S-shut up, Connie! I’m going to be fine…”

“I’m sorry.” Marco looked guilty as he apologized, as if he were somehow responsible for Sasha’s crime. “I shouldn’t have brought it up. You’re right, she might not even notice.”

“Don't’ apologize to her,” Jean, sick of waiting, let himself into Sasha’s house. Even now, well after sundown, the summer heat was stifling. He just wanted to get into Sasha’s cool, air-conditioned home before he suffocated in the muggy garage. “It’s her own damn fault. We didn’t ask her to steal the car.”

Connie moved in front of Sasha protectively. She looked like she was about to start sobbing at any moment. “Hey, be nice to Sasha! She’s really upset!”

“You were making fun of her too, dipshit!”

“Calm down, guys,” Marco put his hand on Jean’s shoulder, pulling back on him gently; not enough to make him move, but enough to make him realize how aggressive his stance actually was. “Arguing over it is only going to make everyone feel even worse.”

“Yeah, Marco’s right!” Sasha rubbed what Jean was almost sure were crocodile tears from her eyes. “If I’m going to die, I don’t want my last moments with you to be spent like this. I want to spend them in my basement, watching horrible movies and eating ice cream until I puke.”

“I’m sure your mom won’t actually kill you,” said Marco. “It’s just a car.”

Connie shook his head frantically. “No man, you don’t understand. Mrs. Braus loves that car more than she loves Sasha.”

Marco’s frown deepened, “You shouldn’t say things like that.”

“No, it’s true,” Sasha sighed, dramatically enough that Jean knew she wasn’t actually upset. “She got drunk at the family Christmas party last year and told everyone.”

Jean nearly laughed at the way Marco’s face paled. “That’s horrible!”

“It is what it is. I don’t particularly care for her, either. She’s just my stepmom, it’s not like she’s _real_ family or anything.”

“I see…” Marco bit his lip, like he wasn’t sure what to say. He was a lucky kid, as far as stepmothers went; Jean knew his mom was overbearing, but at least she was the nice, loving type of overbearing.

After a quick stop in the kitchen to collect provisions – a gallon of ice cream, chocolate syrup, and several bags of chips – the four of them congregated in Sasha’s basement. In Jean’s opinion, it was by far the best room in the Braus house. It was where they kept the biggest television Jean had ever seen, the shag carpet was soft and squishy – perfect for when Sasha and Connie wanted to rough house, which Jean participated in more often than he would ever admit - and best of all, it was always cold, even during the most sweltering summer days.

The pull out couch-bed was already pulled out, as per usual. Sasha liked to have plenty of room to spread out her food. For once, the arrangement actually came in handy; there was no way the four of them could have fit comfortably on the sofa without the added space.

“Since this is my last movie, I get to pick it,” Sasha announced, dropping her armful of junk food onto the bed. “Hmmm, what do I want to watch…?”

Jean knew that look all too well. It was her ‘how can we make this as miserable for Jean as humanly possible’ look. Jean also knew Sasha well enough to know exactly what she was planning. “I swear to god, Sasha, if you put in Napoleon Dynamite, I will murder you and make it look like an accident.”

“Not if my mom beats you to it,” Sasha shrugged, collapsing onto the thin, springy mattress.

“I thought we were going to let Marco call all the shots tonight?” Jean glanced over at him, hoping he would take the hint. “Let him pick the movie.”

Unfortunately, Marco was completely oblivious. “It’s okay, Jean, I don’t mind. I’ve never seen it, so-“

Jean buried his face in his hands. Marco’s words had doomed them. There was no hope of escape now.

Sasha and Connie gasped in creepy unison. “You’ve never seen Napoleon Dynamite?!”

Marco looked mildly terrified. “Um, no?”

“Unbelievable,” Sasha shook her head, deeply disappointed. “And you were doing so well, too.”

“We basically have to watch it now,” said Connie. “You can’t be in our crew if you haven’t seen it. That’s like, rule number five. Sasha, queue it up!”

She was already skimming her extensive DVD collection, and held the box up proudly when she found it. “On it! We are going to change your life tonight, Freckles, just you wait!”

“So… is it a really good movie, or something?”

If it weren’t for the hour and a half of torture he was about to endure, Jean might have laughed. “It’s a really fucking terrible movie.”

“Shut up!” Sasha shoved him so hard he almost fell off the sofa. “Napoleon Dynamite is a work of art.”

“It’s a postmodern cinematic masterpiece,” Connie twirled an invisible mustache between his fingers. “An inspiration to our generation.”

“It’s garbage.”

Marco chuckled, “Come on, Jean. If they like it so much, it can’t be _that_ bad. Right?”

“One of these days, you’re going to learn your lesson about listening to me,” Jean said, tearing open a fresh bag of chips. If he was going to have to suffer through this god-awful movie for the hundredth time, he might as well enjoy some free food while he was at it.

Sasha set up the DVD player before rejoining them on the bed, squeezing in on the end next to Jean. Unfortunately, this meant that Jean ended up uncomfortably sandwiched between her and Marco. Connie, meanwhile, enjoyed more than his share of space, stretched out across the mattress in front of them. Jean wondered if Marco would move, but he didn’t. He just gave Jean an apologetic smile before taking a handful of his chips.

Jean caught Connie watching them, shooting Jean a knowing glance without comment. Connie hadn’t brought up his little outburst in front of the bathrooms at the roller rink, either; he may have been obnoxious as fuck, but Connie was a real bro when it actually mattered.

Of course, that didn’t mean Jean was completely free from Connie’s ‘jokes’ for the rest of the night. “Marco, I’m going to let you in on a little secret. This movie gets a million times funnier when you pretend Napoleon is Jean.”

“It does not!”

“Oh, it totally does,” said Sasha. “You two are so alike that it’s scary.”

“I’m nothing like Napoleon fucking Dynamite.”

“We’ll see what Marco has to say about that,” Sasha said, as the opening credits finally ended, and the real suffering began.

They weren’t even ten minutes into the movie before Marco spoke up, elbowing Jean gently before swiping another handful of chips. “I don’t know, Jean. I can see where they’re coming from.”

Jean elbowed him back, harder, but Marco only laughed. He knew it was a joke – brothers and friends made fun of each other all the time – but once that horrible thought took root in Jean’s overactive imagination, it wouldn’t stop growing. What if Marco really did see him that way – a weird, angry loser who lashed out over stupid bullshit? What if he _was_ a weird angry loser who lashed out over stupid bullshit?

He tried not to let his blossoming insecurity consume him. Even if it was true (and it TOTALLY wasn’t, there was NO WAY Jean was anything like that dingus), it shouldn’t matter. But it did, and it left Jean’s stomach churning so much that he couldn’t even enjoy his chips anymore.

If anyone noticed that he wasn’t paying attention, they didn’t say anything. Marco and Sasha tore open the ice cream container, digging into the half-melted mess without bothering to use separate bowls. Aside from Connie and Sasha talking along with the characters, there was no conversation.

Jean knew that wouldn’t last, and just as he was beginning to wonder when the teasing would start up again, Napoleon began talking to his little friend about how he had no skills. Ugh, Jean hoped he didn’t sound even half that annoying…

“See, no skills,” said Connie. “You really are Napoleon, Jean. Accept it.”

Jean was just about to kick Connie as hard as he could, bro or not, when Marco spoke up in his defense. “Hey, Jean has plenty of skills.”

“Om yeff?” Sasha swallowed a mouthful of ice cream. “Like what?”

Jean expected Marco to make fun of him, since that was turning out to be the theme of the evening. But Marco’s smile was ever sincere. “He’s a really good artist.”

Connie snorted, “Yeah, so’s Napoleon. Does Jean draw ligers on his notebooks, too? Because that would be fucking priceless.”

“No, I mean it. Jean is very talented.”

“I don’t think I’ve seen you draw anything since middle school,” Sasha said, glancing over at him. Her curious look might have seemed more pungent if it weren’t for the chocolate syrup smear on her chin.

“He draws all the time at home,” Marco said. “It’s fun to watch him, he gets so into it.”

Those compliments made Jean’s heart jump. Marco thought he was talented. Marco liked his stupid little doodles.

“Huh, you never told us about that…” Sasha looked legitimately sad. “Were you trying to hide it?”

Jean slouched a little further, hoping the sofa would swallow him up. He wasn’t keeping it a secret from them, exactly… “It just never came up, I guess.”

“Do you do like, real life stuff?” Connie asked. He was laying on his back now, his head turned to the side so he could talk to his friends properly. “Or cartoons?”

“A little of both?” Jean shrugged, trying to sound as casual as possible. “I usually just draw whatever I feel like drawing. Sometimes it’s cartoons, sometimes it’s life drawing. Depends on my mood.”

Connie looked thoroughly impressed. Not that it was particularly hard to impress Connie; he still got excited when he found holographic Pokémon cards. “Wow, that’s so cool. You gotta show me sometime!”

Sasha nodded eagerly. “Yeah, samesies!”

“It’s really nothing special…” Even as he tried to feign modesty, he couldn’t stop himself from smirking. Marco’s praise had healed any blows his ego had taken over the course of the evening. “But sure, why not?”

It would be weird, showing his sketchbook to Sasha and Connie, even if they were his best friends. His drawings were something he’d always kept private; art was his personal outlet. It would be like a nine-year-old girl showing off her diary at show and tell.

Jean mentally kicked himself for comparing himself to a little girl (his drawings were WAY more masculine and cool than a girly diary!), and then returned his attention to the movie.

… Well, he tried to, anyway. The more that horrible excuse for a film went on, the harder it was to actually watch it. Especially with Marco sitting so close to him. Most things, including sliding down a jagged glass slide into a pool of rubbing alcohol, would have been more fun to watch the rest of the movie, but that didn’t mean Marco wasn’t incredibly enticing.

Jean had never considered himself a people-watcher; he always preferred to lose himself in his imagination rather than busying himself with thoughts of the people around him. But he liked watching Marco. He was genuinely interested in the other boy’s reactions to the train wreck happening on the screen in front of him. Sometimes, Marco would find a particular joke funny, and his lips would turn up into a smile. Then he would laugh, a deep, short, heartfelt laugh, while Sasha and Connie cackled constantly despite having the entire movie memorized. But he mostly just looked confused, like he was trying to make sense of what was going on, but just couldn’t quite get there.

He still wore that expression as the final credits began to roll.

“Fucking finally,” Jean said, quickly trying to cover up the fact that he’d been staring at Marco for the better part of an hour. “That movie always lasts forever.”

“So… that’s it?” Was all Marco had to say.

“Yup!” Sasha nodded enthusiastically. “What did ya think?”

“It was…” he struggled to find the right words, like he wanted to be honest without hurting their feelings. “Not what I was expecting.”

Connie sat up, stretching out his arms as he yawned loudly. Jean wasn’t sure how anyone could make a yawn that loud, but somehow Connie managed. “I don’t know about you two, but I’m tired as fuck. I know the plan was me taking you home, but do you mind if we crash here?”

“Works for me,” said Jean.

“I guess that’s fine…” Marco looked reluctant, and Jean had a feeling he was nervous about breaking their curfew, but he was too tired to worry about it. His mom knew he spent the night at Sasha’s when they went out, and they’d go home first thing in the morning. Or early afternoon. Whenever they happened to wake up.

Normally during their sleepovers, Jean and Connie would share the pullout bed, and Sasha would sleep in her bedroom. There was no way the three boys could sleep comfortably in one bed, so Connie followed Sasha up to her room, opting to share her bed instead. She returned to the basement briefly, with a stack of extra blankets, pillows, and two of her most embarrassing pairs of sweatpants for the two of them to sleep in.

Jean decided he would rather sleep in his boxers than the hot pink bedazzled monstrosity Sasha offered him. Marco couldn’t even fit into his pair – which were orange and had the word ‘juicy’ printed across the ass – so he followed suit, crawling into their nest of pillows and blankets in only his underwear and t-shirt.

Jean knew he was going to have a hard time not thinking about that for the rest of the night. He’d seen Marco in his underwear a few times already – a side affect of sharing a bedroom with him, that had almost nothing to do with Jean trying to sneak a peak while Marco got dressed in the morning - and damn, what a sight. Jean had no clue man-thighs could be so enticing until the first time he saw Marco in his tightly fitted boxer-briefs…

So much for a good night’s sleep.

He wondered if Marco would fall asleep right away. They shared a bedroom at home, but there was always something about sleepovers that prompted lots of deep, late night conversation that just didn’t come up otherwise.

“Hey, Jean?”

Ah yes, there it was.

“What?”

“You were right. That movie was really stupid.”

“Mmmmmhm,” Jean hummed, rolling onto his side so he could face Marco. Even if he could barely see him, it seemed weird talking to him with his back turned. “And what did we learn?”

Marco let out a long, exaggerated sigh. “Next time I’ll listen to you.”

“Dam right,” said Jean. “But on the bright side, Sasha and Connie really like you.”

“They do?” Marco sounded surprised, but hopeful.

“Sasha would not have let you eat out of her ice cream bucket if she didn’t like you.”

“Oh, thank god! I was so worried that they’d hate me, or think I’m a loser.”

“Why would they think that?”

“I donno, you guys just… You’re a lot cooler than I am, y’know? I didn’t think I’d fit in with the kind of people you’d hang out with.”

Jean had to bite back a laugh. “You’ve gotta be kidding me.”

“I’m serious!”

“Marco, I dare you to look me in the eye and tell me that those two are even close to resembling anything that could possibly be considered cool.”

“Okay, maybe tonight was not exactly what I was expecting…”

“What were you expecting?”

“I don’t know,” Marco confessed. “Alcohol, or something? Partying. You know, stuff like that.”

“Sometimes we dip into the liquor cabinet and watch old Disney movies.” Maybe that was an embarrassing thing to admit, but if Marco was going to keep hanging out with them, he would find out about all of their embarrassing pastimes eventually. “But that’s about it. We’re not exactly the most rebellious kids on the block.”

“I’m relieved, to be honest.”

“I think that you think we’re way cooler than we actually are.” Jean flopped onto his back, unsure of what he should do with his arms. With Marco next to him, he couldn’t stretch out the way he did in his bed at home. Eventually, he tucked them under the blankets, resting his hands on his chest. “Like what you were saying earlier, about my art. It’s really nothing special. I’m just doodling in my sketchbook.”

“You’re wrong about that. Don’t sell yourself short, Jean. You’re really special.”

Jean pulled his blanket up over his chin, thankful for the darkness that kept Marco from seeing how much that stupid little compliment made him blush. “Thanks, Mr. Rodgers.”

“No, I mean it! You don’t give yourself enough credit.”

“Yeah? Well, neither do you. No more of this ‘you’re-too-cool-for-me’ bullshit. You’re my friend. _Our_ friend, and you’re cool as fuck. Got it?”

“Okay, okay…” Jean heard him shifting around under his blanket. His eyes had adjusted enough that he could make out the Marco-shaped lump next to him in the dark, as well as some of the details of his face. “Can I ask you something?”

“Yeah, shoot.”

“I’m sorry if this is invasive, but it’s been on my mind all night. So you don’t need to answer, if you don’t want to. Especially if it makes you uncomfortable. We really haven’t known each other for very long, really, so I can understand if you’d rather not talk to me about this sort of thing… It’s just… you mentioned something about it earlier, and it’s kind of been on my mind all night, and I know it’s going to keep bugging me-”

“Just ask the damn question, Marco.”

Marco took a deep, calming breath. “Does your mom know? About you being bisexual, I mean.”

“Oh, that? Yeah, I told her when I was in middle school. Never really saw the point of keeping it a secret; she snoops so fucking much, so she would have found out eventually anyway, you’ve seen how she is. I donno if she takes me seriously, though. It’s not like I’ve ever brought a boy home.” Or a girl, for that matter, but Jean decided to omit that information. “Does your dad know you’re gay?”

Marco sighed, like he had been dreading that question. “I haven’t told him, but I’m sure he’s onto me. I don’t exactly try to hide it anymore, and I’m not ashamed or anything, I just... I could never gather up enough courage to tell him, so I hoped he would just confront me about it, but he hasn’t. I don’t know if he’s actually ignorant, or if he just doesn’t ask because he doesn’t want to be disappointed in me.”

“Why would he be disappointed in you?” Marco was practically a saint. It was hard to imagine any parent being disappointed in him. Jean’s own mother took every possible opportunity to mention how much she hoped Marco would rub off on her son.

“I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but Dad’s really into family. He wants grandkids more than anything else, since he didn’t get the chance to have more kids of his own before Mom died.” His voice was strained, the way it sounded the first time Marco had talked about his mom. The words came out slow and forced, like he was trying very hard to think of the right thing to say, but couldn’t. “I can’t exactly give him that, can I?”

Jean couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Mr. Bodt – Matthew was his first name, but Jean still felt weird calling him that – seemed like a great dad. He was interested in his son’s life, and in Jean’s, to an extent, but he also understood that teenagers wanted time to themselves, and left them alone in their room most of the time. Jean wished he could say the same about his own parent. But Marco had been living with his dad for his whole life. A lot probably went on that no one else knew about, Jean and his mother included.

_Wait, so… is he opening up to me more?_ The thought made Jean giddy, even if the things Marco was sharing weren’t exactly pleasant to talk about.

But that’s what made Jean so sure he _was_ opening up. Marco was the type of guy who tried to make everyone happy. He couldn’t even tell Sasha and Connie no when it came to those stupid slushies, and they’d only known each other for about ten minutes at that point. It was easy to see how disappointing his father would have been tough on Marco. It was a difficult situation for Jean – who rarely cared what other people thought of him – to relate to. But he could understand why that would upset Marco so much.

“Well, it’s not like straight people are the only ones who can raise kids, right? Adoption is a thing you can do.”

“Yeah, I guess-“

“Or you could get a surrogate,” Jean babbled on. “Pay someone else to do all of the work for you. If I was a chick, I’d probably just do that anyway. Pregnancy seems like a real drag. Fuck, Marco, do you even _want_ kids?”

Marco was laughing again; Jean decided that was a good sign. “I don’t know, maybe? Not now, obviously, but maybe after I finish school. Or if I meet the right person…”

“If your dad actually gives two shits about you, he needs to realize that what you want is more important than what he wants for you.” The next day, when he replayed their conversation in his head over and over again, Jean would gag just thinking about the cheesy lines he was spewing – Jesus, what was he, a Boy Meets World rerun? – but at the time, he was simply speaking his mind. Nothing out of the ordinary about that. “And if he can’t wrap his stupid bald head around that, then tell him to fuck right off.”

“Oh god, I could never say something like that to my dad. I’d be way too nervous.”

“Okay, maybe you don’t have to say it quite like that, but-“

Marco cut him off, shaking his head. “No way. I’m not like you. I can’t just blurt out whatever I’m feeling in the heat of the moment. I think too much. I’d end up chickening out before I could actually say anything.”

“I could tell him for you, if you want,” Jean offered.

Again, Marco was shaking his head, “No, you don’t have to do that for me.”

“I don’t mind,” said Jean. “I’m an expert at telling people to fuck off.”

That got Marco to smile again, at least. “That’s probably par for the course when you live down the street from that Eren guy, huh?”

Jean couldn’t stop himself from growling; a low, guttural sound from the back of his throat. “You just had to bring him up, didn’t you? I was having a good night, too.”

“Heh, sorry.”

“Look, I’m not saying you have to tell him right now, or anytime soon. I’m just saying…” Shit, what _was_ he saying?

“Yes…?”

“I guess what I’m trying to say is, when you do decide to tell him, I’ve got your back.”

“Thanks, Jean,” Marco reached up to pat his shoulder, his hand rest there way too long. Okay, maybe it was only there for a couple of seconds, but Jean could feel its warmth lingering long after Marco pulled away. “You’re a great brother, I’m so lucky.”

“Yeah…” Jean pulled his share of the covers up to his chin. Hearing the word _brother_ coming out of Marco’s mouth, when all he could think about was pulling that boy closer (and maybe, _maybe_ leaving dozens of light kisses across his face, neck and shoulders until they both fell asleep) made him wish the scratchy, obviously-only-used-when-someone-sleeps-over blanket would just swallow him whole. An eternity in prickly blanket hell couldn’t possibly be worse than this.

* * * *

Jean wasn’t sure how long the two of them stayed up like that, talking about important, and not so important things. Childhood traumas, video games, their parents; conversations Jean was too sleepy to really remember, but at the time they too priority over a good night's rest. Marco told Jean more about his friends back in Jinae, and invited Jean to go with him to visit before school started again. Even if the town sounded about as interesting as a pile of rocks, Jean couldn't bring himself to turn down the invitation.

He couldn’t remember when he fell asleep, or if they exchanged ‘goodnights’ before dozing off. But waking up that morning was something that Jean would remember for the rest of his life.

It was a slow wake-up, at first. The sun leaking through the tiny basement window managed to hit his face in the most annoying way imaginable, yanking him from whatever dream he might have been having. Despite having no idea what time it was, something told him it was far too early to be awake on a Saturday. Jean groaned, a hollow protest, and buried his face in the warm chest in front of him, hoping to hide from-

His eyes shot open, his body growing ridged with the realization that, at some point, he and Marco had gotten closer. A lot closer. Their legs were tangled together, and one of Marco’s arms was draped over his torso. And, thanks to Jean’s newfound hypersensitivity, he could feel Marco’s slow, sleepy breaths skating across his hair.

His cock twitched in the loose confines of his underwear.

_This can’t be happening,_ Jean thought, hoping that all of the blood rushing to his face would keep his erection from getting any worse as he tried to untangle his legs, slowly and gently, so Marco wouldn’t wake up.

But Jean had never been that lucky. Marco kept moving his legs as well, as if they didn’t want to let Jean’s go. The friction his movements created were incredibly enticing to his junk, apparently; by the time he finally freed himself, he was sporting an impressive half-chub.

Jean didn’t need to be sucked into prickly blanket hell. He was already there.

Thankfully, Marco was still fast asleep, and slipping out of his arms was a lot less complicated. Marco let out the most adorable noise as Jean got out of bed – not quite a whimper, but too needy to be a sigh – as he groped around on the mattress, searching for Jean’s body.

_He’s not allowed to be this cute,_ Jean thought, watching until Marco gave up is search with another disappointed sound, his arm falling limply against the bed. _You can’t be this cute and be so nice, you idiot. You’re going to make me fall in love wi-_

“Fuck.” Jean muttered, burying his face in his hands. “Fuck. Fuck. _Shit_.”

First things first, Jean needed to get rid of that incriminating boner. Feelings and potential freak-outs could take place afterwards. He tiptoed away from his sleeping stepbrother, and into the tiny basement bathroom. He tried to close the door as quietly as possible, but every little movement caused the hinge to shriek like a porn star.

_Do not think about porn stars!_ He told himself, glaring at his reflection in the small mirror above the sink. He turned on the faucet, and once he was confident that the water was sufficiently cold, he cupped his hands under the steady stream, allowing them to fill up before he splashed it on his face. Jean shivered. _Do not think about Marco. Do not think about his stupid beautiful face._ He threw another handful of water into his face, with enough force this time that his hair got a little wet. _Do not think about his stupid sexy shoulders, or that gorgeous round ass, or how nice it was to hold his hand, or-_

This wasn’t working. Jean tugged at his hair in frustration. He couldn’t go back out there until he’d solved his little… problem. But he couldn’t jerk off in Sasha’s basement. There were two too many friends with no boundaries in that house who could potentially walk in on him. And, considering how horrible his luck had been so far that morning, that is exactly what would happen.

“Try thinking about something else,” Jean told his reflection, as if it held some sort of power over his actual body. “Think about things you don’t like. Brussels sprouts. Watching football. NPR. Eren Jaeger…”

Yeah, that got rid of his boner real quick.

With his dick officially deflated, Jean ventured out of the bathroom, still careful not to wake up Marco, and upstairs. As soon as the smell of French toast hit is nostrils, he knew all he had to do was follow it.

Sasha was in the kitchen, predictably, scooping a piece of her delicious toast onto what was already an enormous stack. Her tight-fitted cotton shorts had the words ‘Hot Bunz’ bedazzled across the back (she must have shopped at some sort of trashy pajama warehouse, Jean decided), and even in her baggy t-shirt Jean could tell she had yet to bother with a bra. Her hair was down, tousled and unbrushed, and her feet were covered by a very ratty pair of puppy dog slippers.

“Good morning, baby,” She said, winking at him. “Did you get a good night’s sleep?”

“Not really,” Jean mumbled, hoisting himself onto the counter. The cool marble felt nice against his still-too-hot skin.

“Oh no, did something happen with Freckles after we went to bed?”

“Kind of…”

She perked up immediately. She moved her skillet away from the burner, ready to listen intently. “Wait, seriously?!”

Jean was blushing up to his hairline. “I woke up to him cuddling me.”

“That’s it?” Sasha clamped her hand over her mouth, barely choking back her laughter. “You’re freaking out because a cute boy cuddled you? You are such a wiener, oh my god.”

“Can you take this seriously, please? For three fucking seconds, that’s all I’m asking.”

“Okay, okay!” After a few more chuckles, Sasha cleared her throat, looking at him with furrowed brows. “Completely serious, I promise.”

Jean knew better than to believe that; apparently coming completely clean was the only way to make her understand how dire the situation really was. “I’ve got it bad, Sash. We’re talking Mikasa-Ackerman-in-the-seventh-grade _bad_.”

Sasha’s face blanched. “Oh, shit. This _is_ serious.”

“Yeah,” Jean rolled his eyes, glad that she was finally understanding the gravity of the situation. “Thanks, that’s the kind of reaction I was going for the first time.”

“I mean, I knew you liked the kid, but… _dang_.”

“What am I gonna do?” Jean groaned into his hands. “This is so wrong, but…”

“He’s cute as fuck,” Sasha finished for him as she hopped onto the counter next to him. “I mean, I usually don’t go for dudes, but Freckles is a total babe.”

Jean grimaced, “Yeah, exactly. And it’s not like I can get away from him and clear my head, y’know? He fucking _lives_ with me. In my _fucking_ room, where I can’t avoid him.”

“I guess I hadn’t thought about it like that,” Sasha said. “Your room isn’t all that big, right? I bet privacy isn’t a thing anymore huh?”

“Not at all. So I have to look at that stupid adorable face all the time. But… I like looking at it, y’know? It’s a really good face, but I know I’m not supposed to like it _this much_. But the more time I spent with it, the more time I like it. Er, him.”

“Awww, Jean, I’m sorry…” Her arm was around him now, hugging him as she rested her head on his shoulder. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

Jean shook his head, and after a few seconds, leaned into her embrace. He could always blame it on how tired he was later on, if she tried to tease him about it. “Listening to all of my bitching is help enough.”

They sat like that for a while, leaning against each other while Sasha swung her feet back and forth, accidentally bumping her heels against the cabinet several times before she finally spoke again. “You feel any better yet?”

“Yeah, I do.” It did feel better, honestly. Like part of the weight was lifted off of his chest. Like Sasha could somehow carry part of his emotional burden for him.

“Good,” Sasha sat up straight again, beaming proudly. “Now, if we’re done talking about your gay manpain… Can I ask you something important?”

Jean sat up, eyeing her suspiciously. “Uh, Sure?”

“This is super important. Like, the lives of millions of orphans are literally at stake here. I need to know that you’re in the proper mental state to handle-“

“Spit it out already, Christ.”

“This means you’re over Mikasa thing, right?” Sasha asked, her eyes wide with hope. “Like, _really_ over it. Hop on a tornado and crush a witch with your house over it?”

“Of course I’m over it!” Did people really think he was that lovesick over her? Sure, maybe it was a big deal at the time. And maybe it kept being a big deal for… well, a lot longer than Jean cared to admit, but he didn’t let it control his life or anything! It was only the most embarrassing moment of his life. No big deal, right? That was years ago. He was a new man now. A new man who didn’t get bent out of shape over stuff like that.

“Okay, just making sure.”

“Why?”

Sasha hesitated, toying with the hem of her shirt. “Because I was kinda-sorta thinking about maybe asking her out.”

“For real?”

“Of course for real!” Sasha said, giving him a playful shove. “Have you seen her abs? You could do your laundry on those things, holy shit. And sometimes, she lets me have her cheesy bread when the cafeteria does Italian Day. She’s totally in love with me.”

“Oh, is that what that means?”

“Yes, that’s exactly what that means. So can I do it?”

Jean shrugged. “Sure, why not?”

“Really? You don’t care?”

Jean was a little surprised to find that the answer was no, he really didn't care. He'd barely spoken to Mikasa since middle school, and even then it was only in passing. Sure, it might be a little awkward if something did happen between her and Sasha, but Jean knew that, realistically, the odds of that happening were about as high as his odds with Marco. Maybe that was part of the reason it didn't bother him; it was so ridiculous to imagine Mikasa falling for a goofball like Sasha that it was pretty much a non-issue. “Why would I care?”

“I donno. I just figured I’d check with you first. Y’know, bros before hoes.”

“I do not give a single fuck what you do or don’t do with Mikasa. Go for it. It’ll be hilarious.”

She shoved him again, a bit rougher this time. “What, you don’t think she’d go for me?”

“Not a chance,” Jean told her honestly. “She’s never been interested in anyone, you know that. But watching you fall on your face is always great. I hope I'm there to watch it all happen.”

Sasha crossed her arms, “Hmph, see if I ever help you with your love life ever again. Go wake up the other goobs, we need to eat this toast before it gets cold.”

 

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the incredibly long delay between updates. I'll admit, it is partly because the new Dragon Age game hijacked all of my attention and free time, and partly because, for whatever reason, this chapter was a struggle to write. I still feel like it could be stronger... but I really needed to get it published and move on, you know? On the plus side, I was also doing work on the final two chapters all this time, so the wait on those should be a little shorter.
> 
> Anyway, sorry again for the wait, enjoy Chapter Four!

After the incident in Sasha’s basement, it was like the floodgates were open.

They went skating again the following Saturday, Marco insisting that he wanted to improve. “ _I feel like I made a lot of progress last week!_ ” He’d told Sasha, Connie, and Jean as he laced up his skates. “ _I’ll be a pro in no time!_ ”

Unfortunately, that was not the case. If anything, Marco seemed to be _worse_ at skating than he was before. Even with Jean holding onto his hand, he managed to fall _six times_. Every time, Jean went down with him, and the two of them ended up in a tangled mess of limbs in the middle of the rink.

Jean spent the rest of the night thinking about how nice Marco’s weight felt on top of him, and how much he’d wanted to kiss that clumsy freckled idiot.

Thankfully, Sasha had plans with her family early the next morning. Jean and Marco were dropped off at their house after the skating rink closed, where they could sleep in their own, separate beds.

And fuck, _those beds_. Those stupid, fucking bunk beds. Somehow, they managed to simultaneously be the best and worst thing that ever happened to Jean in his entire life. On the one hand, it meant they couldn’t see each other while they slept. Considering how many times Jean had to rub one out in the middle of the night, that was mostly a good thing.

But it also meant that Marco was close to him. Really close. Close enough that Jean could hear every breath, every groan, every incoherent thing Marco mumbled in his sleep. It was impossible to close his eyes and imagine he was alone.

All he could think about were those little sounds, and what sort of noises Marco would make if Jean crawled down into the bottom bunk with him. In his fantasies, Marco was always awake and sexually frustrated, just like him. He would lift up his blanket, inviting Jean to join him, and of course Jean would do just that. Who could say no to that perfect, adorable face? Especially when it was flushed and needy and practically begging Jean to fuck him senseless all night.

So Jean would crawl into Marco’s bed, into Marco’s welcoming arms, and kiss him. Gently at first, but as soon as Marco would start whimpering against his lips and rolling their hips together, wordlessly urging Jean to do something, _anything_ , Jean would give in, kissing the other boy with more passion.

Fantasy-Marco always had an unbelievably soft, yielding mouth. His lips would part for Jean the second he pressed his tongue against them, encouraging Jean to kiss him as deeply and thoroughly as he wanted.

“ _Mmmm, Jean…_ ” Marco would moan, so loud that Jean would worry about their parents waking up. “ _Touch me, please!_ ”

“ _Anything for you, babe,”_ Jean would whisper back. Smirking, he would bring his hands up to start toying with Marco’s chest. Marco was, of course, already naked, so there were no malevolent articles of clothing between Jean and those perky pink nipples.

“ _N-no, not there,”_ he would whine, bucking his hips upwards. “ _Jean, come on!_ ”

Marco would drag his fingers through Jean’s hair, pulling him forward for another heated, needy kiss. The two of them would shift positions, Marco spreading his long, muscular legs just for him-

That was usually the point in his fantasy where Jean couldn’t take anymore. He’d jerk himself off, one hand shoved down his pants and the other clamped over his mouth. Sixteen years of having a room all to himself had spoiled him; keeping quiet while he touched himself wasn’t something Jean was used to.

Ugh, it was so unfair, the things that boy could do to him, without even realizing it!

Although, sometimes, Jean was almost convinced Marco was doing it to him on purpose. Maybe.

Like that time Marco interrupted his shower.

There he was, massaging shampoo through his hair, minding his own damn business, when he heard the bathroom door burst open. At first, Jean assumed it was his mother – she had no concept of privacy, it wouldn’t have been the first time she waltzed into the bathroom while he was in the mid-shower – so he was surprised when it was Marco’s voice he heard on the other side of the curtain.

“Hey, sorry to barge in on you like this, but could I grab my razor real quick? I found a spot on my chin that I missed earlier and it’s driving me crazy.”

“Yeah, sure, just-“ before Jean could move to grab the razor, Marco was tugging the curtain aside, reaching in to grab it from the shelf himself.

Jean’s entire body grew warm, despite the cool water that continued pouring down on him. What the hell was Marco doing?! He couldn’t just… come into his naked space like that!

Marco didn’t seem to think anything of it. He flashed Jean one of his dazzling smiles, whispered a quick “Thanks, man”, and then shuffled out of the bathroom like nothing happened.

The door had barely closed behind him before Jean had his hand wrapped around his cock. Images of Marco, naked and wet and pressed against the wall of the shower while Jean pounded into him mercilessly pervaded his thoughts and fantasies for days afterwards.

It wouldn’t be so bad if Marco was just hot. Jesus Christ, Jean _wished_ Marco was just hot. If that was the case, Jean could have jerked off a few times, and waited patiently for something else to catch his dick’s attention. It was summer, and he was a horny teenager; a quick trip to the community pool for some lifeguard ogling with Sasha and Connie would have been an easy fix.

But it wasn’t just about how physically attractive he was. Everything about Marco was attractive. His body, his laugh, his stupidly-nice personality, the way he talked and the things he liked. He was _perfect_. Maybe not in the literal sense of the word, but as far as Jean was concerned, he was.

Perfect, and completely untouchable. Jean really did have the worst luck in the universe.

 

* * * *

Regardless of Situation Marco, lifeguard ogling was an annual summer event that could not be passed up. If for no other reason than upholding the tradition. Marco even tagged along, though he seemed disappointed that his new friends were more interested in scoping out the crowd than the giant water slide.

“Are you really just going to sit here and stare at people all afternoon?”

Connie snickered, “Ohhhh yeah. Especially now that I have this new binocular app on my phone.”

“Couldn’t you just use the zoom on your camera?” Jean was currently in the middle of applying his third layer of sunscreen. Any less than that, and he would look like a tomato by the end of the day.

“… Shut up, Jean.”

“Oh, here, let me help you with that.” Before Jean could protest, Marco was sitting down behind him, snatching up the sunscreen. “I’ll do your back, you do mine, yeah?”

Jean gulped, “Y-yeah, sounds like a deal.”

Great. It was bad enough that he was walking around shirtless, but now Marco was going to be touching him, too?

“Man, we picked a good day for this,” Connie said, his eyes glued to the small screen in front of him. “It’s like, babe’s day out, holy shit. And that lifeguard with the really little speedo is back this year, did you see him?”

“Y-yeah,” Jean was trying to focus on the pool full of half-naked people in front of him. Really, he was. It was no use, though; the half-naked guy behind him was far more interesting. And he sure was taking his fucking time applying that sunscreen.

“Connie, don’t you think that’s a little… creepy?” Marco asked.

“Yeah, I’m with Marco on this one,” Sasha said, rolling onto her back. Her pink bikini revealed tan lines where her typical shorts and t-shirt usually covered her skin, something she was hoping to remedy with copious amounts of tanning lotion. “Why watch it on your screen when it’s live, right in front of you?”

“That’s not really what I meant…”

“Oh, is that how you feel, Sasha?” Connie said, a cheeky glint in his eye. “Then I guess you’re not interested in the spectacular set of abs I just spotted over by the diving board.”

“Wait, what?” Sasha practically flung herself towards Connie, snatching up his phone easily. “Where? Show me!”

“Right… there!”

“Oh my god,” Sasha gasped, and for once Jean wasn’t the only one blushing like an idiot. “It’s her!”

“Who?” Marco asked, leaning over to get a peek. Jean was torn between missing those strong hands rubbing his back, and thanking every deity he’d ever heard of that Marco had stopped before his cock got too excited.

“Mikasa Ackerman.” Sasha sighed her name, clasping her hands over her chest. “Be still, my beating heart…”

Jean was barely able to suppress a groan. Great. _Fantastic_.

“Who's Mikasa Ackerman?”

“She’s nobody,” Jean replied, hoping the subject would be dropped quickly.

“She’s not nobody!” Sasha insisted. “She’s somebody! She’s everybody!”

“So she’s a girl?” Marco guessed. “Another friend of yours?”

“She’s more than just a girl!” Sasha had grabbed Marco by the shoulders now, shaking him. “She’s _the_ girl! If God was a sculptor, Mikasa Ackerman would be his _David_! If he was a painter, she’d be his _Mona Lisa_! If he was a chef, she would be a really fancy French dish that no one can pronounce! Do you see what I’m getting at?”

“So… she’s a girl?”

“Agh, I wouldn’t expect _you_ to understand!” Sasha finally let go of him, turning her attention once again to the beauty on the other side of the pool. “I can’t believe she’s here…”

“Yeah, it’s unbelievable,” Jean rolled his eyes. Sasha was really serious about this crush, wasn’t she? “Who would have guessed that someone would be at the only public pool in Trost, on the hottest day of the year?”

“I know, right?” Sasha said, either not catching his sarcasm, or not caring. “It must be fate!”

“And here I was hoping I’d go all summer without bumping into her…”

Marco was frowning again. “Do the two of you not get along?”

Connie snickered, “Jean’s still butthurt because-“

“Because of things we all agreed never to mention ever again,” Jean interrupted. Today was already terrible enough, there was no reason to take a trip down memory lane to revisit the worst of his seventh grade blunders. “Isn’t that right, _Conrad_?”

“Dude,” Connie’s face blanched. “Don’t call me that in front of Marco!”

Marco barely choked back his laughter. “Your name is Conrad?”

“And I’m not butthurt,” Jean added as an afterthought. “It’s just that, wherever there’s Mikasa, there’s bound to be-“

“Yo, Kirstein!”

Eren. Fucking great. There he was, strutting over, perfectly tan in a way that Jean could only dream of. He’d probably never been sunburned before in his life, that jerk. Armin – who, like Jean, was almost too white to live, and was even wearing a wide-brimmed hat and a white t-shirt to protect his skin – was, as per usual, following close behind.

“Wow, three whole friends,” Eren said, impressed. “That must be some sort of record for you.”

“Wow, counting to three,” Jean countered. “That’s probably your personal best, right? Congrats.”

Armin gave Eren’s arm a gentle swat. “Oh, will you two cut it out? Hi, Marco. It’s nice to see you again.”

“Nice to see you too,” Marco waved at the blond boy, flashing that brilliant smile, and Jean cursed the fact that it gave him butterflies even though it wasn’t being aimed at him. “How’s it going?”

“Heh, I’m alright I guess,” Armin adjusted his oversized hat. “Trying not to melt. It’s not so bad once you’re in the water, though.”

“I wouldn’t know,” Marco shrugged. “All these guys wanna do is people watch.”

“Ugh,” Eren wrinkled his nose; Jean wished he could punch that smug look off of his face. “You guys are still doing that? It’s so fucking creepy.”

“More importantly,” Connie interjected, glancing back and forth between Armin and Marco. “Since when are you two so buddy-buddy, huh?”

Jean had been wondering exactly that. As far as he knew, Marco and Armin had only met once, during the Water Balloon Move In Incident. Leave it to Connie to ask all the important questions.

“We’ve been talking on Facebook,” Marco rubbed the back of his neck. He looked like a kid who had been caught sneaking cookies. Jean might have thought it was cute, if it didn’t mean that Marco had been fraternizing with the enemy. “Armin takes AP classes, too, so I figured it’d be nice to have a friend on the first day.”

“You’re taking AP Classes?” Jean was surprised that Sasha was even paying attention to the conversation, with the object of her affections so close and all. She had always been very one-track minded when it came to the things (and people) she liked.

“Um… Yeah?”

“Ewww, why?”

“Don’t listen to her, Marco,” said Armin. “The AP classes here are great. Last year’s biology class got to dissect-“

“Ew ew ewwww!” Connie interrupted. “Stop that. Summer means no science. Or math. Or history.”

“Hey.” Her cool, familiar voice sent a chill up Jean’s spine, but one glance at Sasha told him that she was having the exact opposite reaction; her face was suddenly bright red, and she was grinning from ear to ear as she turned her head.

Mikasa was beautiful. She always had been, even in middle school when everyone else was still trying to grow into themselves and get their acne under control. She was still keeping her black hair short (and, with hair that beautiful, it should have been considered a crime), and she was without her trademark red scarf. Wearing it at the pool would have been silly, but Jean was still a little surprised to see her without it.

Sasha scrambled to her feet. “M-mikasa, hi!”

“Hi, Sasha. Jean. Connie.”

“… Hey.”

“ ‘Sup!”

“And you must be Marco.”

“Yeah, that’s me,” Another stunning smile. Christ, did Marco have to smile at _her_ like that? “It’s nice to finally meet you.”

“Finally…?” Mikasa repeated.

“Yeah, these guys have told me a lot about you.”

“Oh, really? What did they say?”

“Nothing!” Jean jumped in before anyone else could say something stupid. “Just. You know. Talking about people we go to school with.”

“Well, anyway, I heard about what Eren did to you earlier this summer. You know, with the water balloon. I hope you found his apology sufficient.”

Eren never apologized. Even if Jean hadn’t known that for a fact, the suddenly terrified look on his face gave him away for sure. Oh man, he was in trouble now.

Mikasa glanced over at him, her eyes narrowing suspiciously. “He did apologize, didn’t he?”

“H-hey, didn’t we come over here for a reason?” Eren sputtered. “We need more people for the waterslide. They only let you go down in twos and fours, so we’ve been having to go with strangers all day.”

“And the last guy was kind of… creepy,” Armin added, shifting uncomfortably. “So, do you guys want to do it with us?”

“Yeah, duh!” Sasha already had an arm looped through Mikasa’s, as if to claim her as a sliding partner. “Lets go!”

Connie shrugged, “Heh, sure, I guess I’m game…”

“Well?” Eren looked down at Jean and Marco. “Are you guys coming or not?”

“You know I can’t swim, asshole.”

“Still? Jesus Christ, you’re so pathetic. What about you Marco?”

Marco glanced over at the water slide, a hint of longing in his beautiful brown eyes. He’d been wanting to actually _go_ swimming all day, Jean was so sure he’d go. And then he would have to watch Marco having a good time with fucking _Eren_ , of all people-

“Nah, I’m good for now.”

“Dude, don’t just stick around here because Jean is,” said Eren. “Don’t let him ruin your good time.”

“No, that’s not it…” Marco glanced around, as if looking for a reason to stay behind. “I need to put on sunscreen. If I don’t reapply soon, I’ll end up with more freckles.”

“Aww, what’s wrong with that?” Sasha playfully nudging Marco with her foot. “Don’t you like your freckles?”

Marco shook his head. “No way. They make me look like I’m twelve.”

“Well, I happen to think they’re very cute,” she said. “Don’t you agree, Jean?”

Jean had never experienced stage fright, not really. Sure, doing presentations in class was a little stressful, but not paralyzingly so. But now, with six pairs of eyes on him, waiting for an answer, he suddenly understood where that fear came from.

They were all being so quiet. Sasha and Connie hadn’t been quiet for more than ten seconds in the entire time he’d known them, why did they choose now to suddenly shut up?

It was Armin who finally broke the silence, coughing into his hand. Suddenly, the world began to fade back into focus. Screaming children splashing around in the pool. His friends (and mortal enemies) watching him intently. The scorching sun beating down on him, and for once Jean was thankful for it; at least it was an easy explanation for why he was sweating so much.

“A-anyway, we should go get in line,” the blond boy removed his hat. “Do you think you could watch this for me, if you’re not coming along? I don’t want it to get wet.”

Jean practically snatched the stupid hat out Armin’s hands. “Yeah, sure thing.”

“Race ya over there!” Connie had taken off before the words were even out of his mouth, giving Sasha’s ass a firm smack along the way. Under different circumstances, Jean might have laughed at her shrill little scream, or even felt a twinge of jealousy at the way Mikasa watched her chasing off after Connie before she, Eren, and Armin followed them towards the slide.

But all of those things were reduced to afterthoughts the second Marco sat down in front of him. Jean knew he was broad-shouldered, but it was so much more obvious now that it was staring him right in the face. Marco’s shoulders were sprinkled lightly with freckles, and his back muscles were every bit as tantalizing as the ones up front.

He offered Jean the half-empty tube of sunscreen. “You’re still going to do my back, right?”

“Huh? Oh, yeah, sure man. I’ve got your back.”

_Fuck_.

* * * *

Somehow, despite constantly reapplying his sunscreen, Jean was still sunburned when they returned home. He’d had worse, and he didn’t think it would blister or peel, but it still hurt like a motherfucker.

Unfortunately, as soon as he walked through the door, his mother greeted him with a bone-crushing hug. Jean could hear Marco chuckling behind him. He clinched his jaw, trying – and failing - to hold back his pathetic whine.

“I’m so glad you’re home!” Jean could tell by the way her voice was shaking that she was crying. He hoped it was the good kind of crying. “Matthew, the boys are home!”

“Is everything alright?” Marco asked. “Did something happen?”

“Oh, of course everything is alright…” She finally let go, much to Jean’s relief, to dry her eyes. “Everything is perfect! We have the best news, boys, I’ve been waiting all day to tell you-“

“Nancy, maybe you should let them inside, first.”

Jean had plenty of complaints about his mother’s hasty marriage, sure. But the way Marco’s dad looked at her certainly wasn’t one of them. He’d never seen his own dad look at her that way; like she was the most beautiful, amazing, important person in the world. Like he could be happy with her forever.

_Mom really deserves that,_ Jean thought, as he sat down on the sofa next to Marco. Their parents stood in front of them, Mr. Bodt’s expression calm and composed while Jean’s mom looked as though she was about to burst open with excitement.

_We’re probably not in trouble, then…_ Jean exchanged a concerned glance with his stepbrother. It was oddly comforting to know that he was just as confused. _Maybe we’re going on a vacation? Or one of them one the lottery? Both? I hope they’re getting me a car. Us a car? I’d probably have to share it with Marco, huh?_

Finally, Matthew cleared his throat. “Nancy and I have decided to-“

“We’re getting married!” she blurted out, covering her mouth as she giggled. “I’m sorry, I’m just so excited.”

Well, that wasn’t what Jean was expecting. “Um… Aren’t you supposed to make the announcement _before_ you have the wedding?”

“Maybe our marriage is a bit… _unconventional_ ,” she admitted, lacing her fingers through Matthew’s.

“But the only thing we regret about it, is that we couldn’t share our wedding day with our loved ones,” he added. “With _you_. And we want to correct that mistake, by having another ceremony here, with our family and friends. Marco, will you do me the honor of being my best man?”

He always spoke with his son so formally, Jean realized, as he watched Marco accept the offer with an enthusiastic nod. More like they were friendly coworkers than father and son. Marco’s dad wasn’t physically affectionate the way Jean’s mother was, hugging and praising him at the slightest provocation.

It was just a different sort of relationship. Jean wasn’t stupid, he knew that some kids just didn’t get along with their parents. But he couldn’t help remembering what Marco had told him that night in Sasha’s basement, and wondering just how complicated their relationship actually was.

“Y-yes, of course!” Oh jeez, Marco looked like he was about to tear up, too. “I would love to, Dad, thank you.”

“And, Jean, I know you weren’t exactly happy about this, but I was still-“ She was really crying now, the ugly kind of crying where her face was turning red and her nose was running. “I was still hoping you would walk me down the aisle.”

Oh, great. Now Jean was crying. Just a little, nothing like the ridiculous waterworks show his mother was putting on for them.  “Of course I will, Mom. Anything you want.”


End file.
